


The Devil You Know

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV), Defenders
Genre: Fear, Fighting Back, Gen, Medical Experiments, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Now With More Story!, PTSD, Protection, Psychological Trauma, Rand Enterprises, Restraints, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, The Real Superpower Was Friendship All Along, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: Matt wakes to the sudden and pervasive thought that something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what.Smells like a hospital. Feels like a hospital.But it’s not a hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> A fill for the Whumptober-prompt ‘kidnapped.’ I think this could have been a good multi-chapter, too, but I wasn’t ready to expand on it. Please enjoy it in it’s current form!

* * *

 

The Devil You Know

                Matt wakes to the sudden and pervasive thought that something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what. Smells like a hospital. Feels like a hospital. But as he heaves himself out of bed onto two shaking legs, as he runs through his senses searching for an explanation, for symptoms, he finds nothing amiss except his dizziness and lethargy. He’s tired, so tired, and his mouth is dry, and the last thing he remembers is kicking Foggy’s ass at a game of pool in Josie’s.

               Alarms go off. Matt tears at the electrodes on his chest, the IV in his arm. He checks for injuries and, again, finds none. “Where am I?” he asks one of the heartbeats that’s appeared in front of him. “Where is this place?”  
  
               “Relax, Mr. Murdock. You’re in a hospital.”

               A hospital. Not _the_ hospital. “Why?”

               The question hangs too long between him and the growing contingent of people he can sense around him. No hospital staff is that silent in the face of an unruly patient. Hell, no hospital has this many staff to spare. 

               Matt scopes out the door based on the heartbeats rather than the air currents. His senses are seriously compromised, butting in line of each other, cutting each other out. He’s been drugged. He’s also been redressed. “Who are you? What am I doing here?”  
  
               Murmuring. Another terrible sign. Matt swings his head, listening for window panes, feeling for drafts. His other ear maps the movements of feet on the floor, items exchanging hands. They’re going to come for him, and they will overwhelm him, and God damn it, there’s no windows, one door, a whole crowd. Did they take Foggy? Karen? Matt doesn’t get a chance to ask, not that he’d get an answer anyways. The only response they’re looking to give comes in the form of a fight, one that ends in restraint and a sharp sting in his bicep, then a cool, hazy descent into unconsciousness. 

* * *

 

               Matt can’t manage to get quite so awake again. Awareness comes in fragments, snapshots. Thrashing weakly against five-point restraints on a thin mattress, an IV feeding a warm cocktail into his arm. The whish and pound of an MRI throbbing dully against cheap ear plugs. Murmur of voices. Hands manoeuvring him from sitting to standing to lying down.

               He’s aware of silence, too, sometimes. That terrifying absence of sound, one so complete he can’t even hear his own heartbeat. He tries to yell, to scream; he feels the sound rattling through his vocal chords but there’s nothing. _Nothing_. Only the sour taste of fear building in the back of his mouth, the snap of restraints on his arms and legs, the strange pressure in his ear canal of plugs that he can’t shake loose.

               Matt doesn’t know how long he’s left like that. He only knows when the silence comes alive. A low tone emerges gradually through the abyss like the rush of blood inside his skull. It transitions seamlessly into the sound a foot makes crunching through snow, to Dad’s groan as he was getting stitched up at the table, to the dial tone of their old landline. The sound rises steadily until it’s a high-pitched shriek that makes Matt grit his teeth, another yell ripping its way out of his throat only to be swallowed up by an even higher pitch, a sharper screech. He writhes against the restraints he can no longer feel, winces against the fear he can no longer taste, and he wants it to stop. Make it stop.

               Silence returns. Matt slumps back onto the bed. His senses gradually return, gathering in the noiseless dark. He can’t hear his heart, but he can feel it, a faint tremor running through the bones of his chest, humming under his skin.

               He lies like that for some time before the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Goosebumps rush up his arms. The sound is there in fear and fear alone, so low that Matt can’t register it as anything other than a looming presence, a whole new kind of devil inside him. And this one isn’t under his control, can’t be baited by morals or ethics, right or wrong. This devil does what it will.

               He tells himself he won’t scream this time, but he does.

* * *

                There are tears when his hearing returns. Matt wakes to a person dabbing at his cheeks, to too-harsh hush of whispers, and he tries to contain himself. He really tries, but he’s so far away and sinking again, under the cover of this new Devil, this screaming, crying thing.

               Silence comes to his skin. Paralysis, anesthetic. The complete loss of sensation in regions of his body. Matt gathers himself against panic, but the truth is no comfort. The sound is coming, and it does, this time with no transition from low pitch to high. There’s nothing and then something. Matt’s rocked by electric shocks, pinpricks, heat and chill.

               He can hear them this time, the voices. They’re stating numbers and factors of intensity and areas where he’ll be touched next, and Matt’s mouth is wrapped around a bit to stop his teeth from clenching. To stop him from biting off his tongue. He yells at them, the voices, at least until the shocks resume or the needle pierces his skin.

               But then he comes to, hunched over and cowering, terror coming off him in waves and him unable to stop it, unable to fight back. His first time out of restraints, and he takes it as an opportunity for to meltdown. He’s touched on the arms, his shoulders, his sides, his face, and he can’t track them, can’t predict them, can’t defend against them.

               Then a soft voice tells him it’s alright, it’s alright, he’s done so well, he’s given them so much, and Matt loses it. He comes out from under, and he rages. He punches and kicks and he isn’t sure he’s doing anything, but he’s doing something, and it’s enough that it takes more than one person to stop him.  

* * *

               The restraints are back, and so is the voice. Heels clack against the tile. A soft, well-manicured hand wraps around his. He’s reassured that he didn’t mean it, that it’s okay for him to be scared.  

               Matt twists his hand in the restraint and lets loose a small keen. He grips the stranger’s hand, and he lets her settle into him before he snaps back hard against her knuckles, breaking three of her fingers.

               He isn’t awake anymore after that. The electric shocks and the infrasounds buzz around above him, but Matt floats deep below the surface, the devil he knows for company wrapped tightly around him, lying in wait.

* * *

               Fingers snapping. Hands clapping. Palms on his cheek. “Matt? Matt!” His eyelids flutter and rouse him, the sensation new, novel even, after so much sleeping. “Hey, that’s it. Wake up. Come on, Matt, wake up.”

               Matt can’t get to the surface as quick as the devil does, and Matt regains consciousness to his hand crushing a throat, a grip on his wrist that threatens to break his arm at the elbow, and a familiar voice choking.

               “Hey. It’s me. It’s Danny.”

               Matt loosens his grip. “Danny?” Relief washes through him with so much force he almost collapses, but Danny is holding him upright as the restraints on his ankles are torn open.

               Jessica Jones makes herself known with clomping boots and whiskey lips and a slew of expletives. She launches into a tirade against the room before heading down the hall to help with what Matt can only assume is Luke Cage pummeling captors.

               Danny gets him out of the bed and goes to carry him over a shoulder. Matt refuses. Far too much has been done to him; he is getting out of here on his own two feet. “Where are we?” he asks, his weight dropping into Danny despite his efforts. The Immortal Iron Fist drapes one of Matt’s lifeless arms across his shoulders and starts dragging him along. “What is this place? What are they…?”

               “It’s Rand,” Danny says. “One of their research facilities.” He slows his gait in a hallway, the battle raging on behind them. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I don’t know how they found out. I didn’t…”

               “Not your fault, Danny.” Matt grips him tightly. “Where are…?” They’re fighting, but Matt can’t tell what or whom. “What about Jessica and Luke?”  
  
               “They’re coming,” Danny says. “I think they need to work through some things first. Scientific experimentation things.”

               “I’m gonna need to work through some of those too.” Matt moves to pull himself off Danny’s shoulders. His legs shake underneath him, knees buckling.

               Danny grabs him and pulls him back up, catching Matt’s head when it flops on his neck. “Later,” he says softly. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.”

               Matt hangs his head, sinking again, but this time with the sounds of walls crumbling behind him, of data being erased and machines being destroyed; this time with a hand gripping him round the side, a grip he can follow back to the surface, that banishes the Devil that Rand created for the Devil he knows. 

* * *

 

Happy Reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Took me a while to come back to this story, but I think I know where it’s going now. I’m thinking it will likely be three to five chapters in total. 
> 
> Readers, dear Readers, thank you for your kind support on the first chapter of this fic. I hope you like where this goes. Cheers!

* * *

-Two-

               Matt bursts into consciousness, senses at maximum, body already in motion. He kicks the blankets off his legs and throws himself off the bed, staggering through the mad swirl of vertigo that claims him. One hand goes to a wall, the other to the air. He twists, focusing, gradually sorting the world into what’s in here and what’s out there: traffic sounds – out, heartbeats – in. The smell of linen clings to his skin melding with the aged, sour scent of fear and sedation.

               One of his legs gives out. Matt shifts back, bracing himself in the corner of the room. A hand touches his; he comes at them with his fists. He almost lands a blow when the memory of rescue hits him: Danny carrying him out of the lab, Luke covering him with a jacket in the back of a van; Trish in the driver’s seat and Jessica next to her, swearing up a storm. Things get fuzzy after that. Claire asking questions, drawing blood, running tests; Danny forcing glass after glass of water down his throat. And sleep, finally. As if he hasn’t had enough of that lately.

               Matt’s palms open and find shoulders, find warmth. “Foggy,” he says, and he isn’t sure which of them does the grabbing. They end up in a fierce hug that knocks the breath straight out of Matt’s lungs, but after weeks of living below the surface, he knows what suffocation feels like, and this isn’t suffocation. This is home.

               He lets Foggy hang onto him until he stops shaking. When it’s over, Matt makes his way back onto the edge of the bed, or maybe Foggy guides him there. Another glass of water makes its way into his hand, and Matt drinks to appease the heartbeats surrounding him.

               The spinning stops. Gradually, Matt takes up residence inside himself again, scrolling through his senses, making sure they’re in working order. His thoughts, too, seem to be his own. The old Devil, his Devil, asserts itself inside his head; Matt lets it fill him, lets it occupy every inch of him. He stops Foggy from telling him where they are to ask, “What did they do?”  
  
               “We saved their records before we trashed the place,” Luke says from the sidelines. “Looks like they were testing your senses, measuring your abilities.”  
  
               “You mean Daredevil’s abilities,” Matt corrects him.

               “No. I mean Matt Murdock’s abilities. None of their records indicated they knew anything about Daredevil. They were surprised you knew how to fight.”  
  
               Matt’s relief is short-lived. “Not well enough.”  
  
               Foggy jumps back into the conversation: “They didn’t give you a chance! They had you in a chemically-induced coma, Matt!”  
  
               “I shouldn’t have let them take me in the first place,” Matt says, shaking his head. Everything feels just a little too sharp. He reels, trying to get his senses back under control. “I’m glad you’re alright.”  
  
               “I haven’t been. I was worrying about you.”  
  
               “I’m fine, Foggy. I’m fine. Right, Luke? I’m fine?”  
  
               “You’ll _be_ fine,” Luke replies, making it sound almost like a question.

               Matt takes it as a win. “See?”  
  
               Foggy huffs. “Do you mind if we have a minute alone?”  
  
               Luke takes a step back towards the door. “Of course. We got food in the kitchen whenever you’re ready, Murdock.”  
  
               “Thanks,” Matt says, but that doesn’t cover everything. He turns his head in Luke’s direction and tries again, with all his might this time, “Thank you.”

               “You’re welcome.” Luke closes the door behind him.

               Foggy takes a minute before he starts: “You are not going to tough-guy your way through this one.”  
  
               “Foggy –“  
  
               “You were kidnapped.”

               “Yeah.”  
  
               “You were held against your will.”  
  
               “That’s what happens when you’re kidnapped.”  
  
               “They tortured you!”  
  
               “They did tests on me. They weren’t-“  
  
               “Electric shocks. High-pitched sounds.”

               Matt’s mouth goes dry. He bites down on his lower lip to keep from giving himself away. “Yeah,” he says. What else is there to say? “Yeah, I know. I was there. I was…” He scrubs a hand over his face, frustration burning through him, trying to contain and combat that rising wave of terror. That new Devil, the one Rand made, it’s still there, and it’s coming for him.

               He grips the mattress so tight his biceps ache. “What do you want from me, Foggy? I was kidnapped. They did tests.”

               “They drugged you. They tortured you. They violated you.”  
  
               “Jessica and Luke destroyed their lab. You have my file, my bloodwork. We have everything we need to take them down.” Matt nods, unable to feel the resolve with the fear simmering inside him. “It’s fine. I’m-“ Foggy lets out a groan that threatens to build into a roar. “What?”

               “How are you so calm about this? How are you sitting there and telling me this will be okay? It’s not okay!”

               “No, it isn’t, but it will be.” Foggy’s heartbeat doesn’t let up; Matt sighs. “What do you want from me, Foggy?”  
  
               Foggy sighs too. “Nothing,” he says.

               “It’s not nothing.”  
  
               “Yes, it is. This isn’t about what I want. This is about what you need.”  
  
               “What I need is a shower and a change of clothes,” Matt says. The rest will come later.

* * *

                Matt washes the last of the chemical stink from his skin and dresses in clothes Foggy brought from his apartment. The familiarity of the fabric lets him disassociate from the scratch of hospital-issue linens he was subjected to at Rand.

               The safehouse seems sprawling after captivity. An open concept apartment; people maintaining comfortable distances; security system armed and ready against intruders. Food helps Matt settle. Agitation simmers beneath his skin, but it’s at a level he can tolerate. He isn’t waiting for his hearing to cut out or his skin to go silent, at least he doesn’t think he is. The thought nags despite Matt’s efforts to centre himself in the present.

               Danny and Jessica return: both have been chasing down leads, Danny by making polite house calls and Jessica by making impolite ones. Her knuckles are bloody. They have a few more people to question, but despite Matt’s protests to the contrary, they keep insisting _later_. People are Rand are keeping quiet, standing still. They aren’t going anywhere.

               “Right now, we need to know what you remember,” Luke says.

               Matt shakes his head. “Not a lot.” He relays what few snippets of consciousness he can recall, leaving out the part where he wept and begged for mercy under the pretense of that not having happened. But he does mention the woman: “I remember the sound of her heels on the floor, her voice. She tried to…” he flexes his palm, unable to shake the ghost of her comforting him until he recalls, “I broke her fingers. Two of them, I think. I don’t remember anything after that until you showed up.”

               He senses them sharing looks. “What?”  
  
               “Nothing,” Luke says convincingly enough. Danny’s heartbeat plays it cool too. It’s Jessica who’s respiration spikes in alarm.

               Matt turns an ear toward her. “What are you not telling me?”  
  
               “Nothing,” Jessica says. She stalks out of the room. “Get some rest, Murdock. You look like shit.”

               Danny and Luke hold their positions long enough for their steady heartbeats to stick with Matt, then they start offering him more food.

* * *

               He can’t go home. Can’t go to church. Can’t go anywhere Rand might think to look for him. He tries to ask Foggy for the suit, but the question is met with disbelief. “If they’re looking for Matt Murdock, they’re not looking for Daredevil,” Matt says.

               “We don’t know that for sure.”  
  
               “What do we know?”

               “We know that you were captured and –“

               “Forget it.”

               Jessica, Luke, and Danny won’t hear him out either no matter how hard he tries, nor will they talk about what makes Jessica leave, her heartbeat flaring.

               Matt knows he’s pushed everybody’s buttons when Maggie shows up. They didn’t want to risk bringing her in any more than they wanted to risk Matt going out in the suit, “But here we are,” Maggie says. She pats him on the arm, allowing her touch to linger, her heartbeat to press its palm into his chest. “The lesser of two evils.”

               They have a cup of coffee. Matt is careful to keep quiet, but it doesn’t take long before his tongue’s loose and wagging. Maggie listens, patiently; she pauses even more patiently. Then she says, “Your friends are worried about you.”

               “My friends are worried about themselves,” Matt says. “They’re hiding something from me.”

               Maggie pretends to think about this before asking, “You ever think they might be protecting you?”

               She makes it sound like she just thought of it, like it’s a novelty, like she’s co-conspiring instead of patronizing.

               Matt rolls his eyes. “It’s my life.”  
  
               “Your kidnapping.”  
  
               He ignores her: “I have a right to know.”  
  
               “Even at the expense of your well-being.”  
  
               “Do you know?”

               “No,” Maggie says. “I don’t know that I’d care to, even if they offered.”  
  
               Matt smiles softly, blood rushing into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Peace hits him harder now than before. “I’m alright, Maggie.”

               Her heartbeat stays its course, warm and soft with relief. “I’m glad, Matthew,” she says.

* * *

               They finish their coffee; Maggie washes up. Matt half-lies on the couch in repose, listening to Maggie’s quick movements. Dishwater splashes on her arm; her nimble fingers curve the sponge around the inside of the mug. He doesn’t notice his eyes are closed until her hand brushes over his cheek. A blanket unfurls across his legs. Maggie’s heartbeat keeps watch over him, slow-stepping across the panes of the sitting room windows.

               Matt wills himself not to sleep. Dozing is safest. Dozing means no night sweats, no nightmares, no flashbacks. Dozing lets him avoid the pull of Rand’s Devil inside him, the one that greets him through the dark with his own wet, desperate pleading.

               He snaps out of sleep, his hand locked in Maggie’s. She releases him the second he pulls from her. Matt’s hand stings from the wet chill of the air against the heat of his skin.

               Danny calls from the kitchen. “Give us a minute,” Maggie says.

               Footsteps approach. “Is he alright? Matt, are you alright?”  
  
               “He’s fine,” Maggie insists. “A moment, please.”

               Danny’s heart beats dissatisfiedly, but he returns to the kitchen, issuing a low grumble of a command that makes Maggie smirk. “Little impatient for a monk.”  
   
              “A little,” Matt agrees. He brings his breathing back to a comfortable pace, stretching his arm in the direction of her hand with no intention of being held again. Maggie obliges him nevertheless, and her palms hold fast to him. “Thank you.”

* * *

                Maggie departs, leaving Matt with Danny and dinner. Silence reigns until Matt finally puts down his chopsticks. “I want to know,” he says.

               Danny’s mouth is full of food: “Know what?”

               “You’re hiding something. What?”  
  
               Danny taps the edge of Matt’s bowl. “Eat!” he says cheerfully.

               Matt pushes away from the table. That gets Danny’s attention. He finally stops eating. “We’re taking care of it, Matt.”    
  
               The warning tone in Danny’s voice bolsters Matt. He issues his own warning: “ _Tell me_.”

               Danny’s heartbeat finally shifts into the deep, dark rumble of a dragon stirring in its cave. “When we raided Rand, we stole their records.”  
  
               “Yeah, Luke told me.”

               “They weren’t all written.”  
  
               Matt is about to ask what that means, but he doesn’t have to: he knows. He knows without Danny telling him.

               Danny does, inevitably: “Rand had you on video.”

               The Rand Devil reaches straight through Matt, nabbing his guts in his vice locks. His blood runs cold in his veins. He reaches a shaking hand to the tabletop and holds on for dear life.

               Danny’s heartbeat rustles against him like an incoming tide. “I’m so sorry, Matt.”

               Matt isn’t: he’s angry. “Did you recognize anyone? Do you know who did this?”

               “We’re working on it.”  
  
               “Working on it…” Matt chides. “You have video.”

               “But not of what you described.”

               “She must have turned off the cameras.” Matt sinks back into his chair.

               Danny tries again with the soothing heartbeat, the soft voice: “Matt, I’m so-“  
  
               “Who could do that? Who has that much power at Rand?”

               “There’s a lot I still don’t know,” Danny admits, “But we’re working on it. Please, just trust us. Give us time.”  
  
               Matt rises from the table. “You’ve had time. You’ve had nothing but time. I’m giving you one more night. You bring me a name tomorrow morning, or I’m finding out who did this myself.”  
  
               “We won’t let you,” Danny says, rising. “Rand got you once-“

               “Yeah, and they’re not going to get me again.” Matt stalks out of the room, no longer hungry. Too pissed and too sick to his stomach to ever be hungry again. “Tomorrow morning.”

               Danny says something; Matt doesn’t listen. He locks himself up in the bedroom, his guts churning and his hands shaking, blood a mix of hot and cold. The Devils duke it out inside him, vying for supremacy. All Matt can do is pray it’s the old Devil who wins.  

* * *

 

Happy Reading!

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Oh, gosh, this fic is going to be 6 chapters, isn't it? 
> 
> 5 at least. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

               The three of them are in the kitchen together, and that’s how Matt knows they’re not going to tell him. He makes sure to wear his runners and a hoodie when he goes to join them.

               “This isn’t a meeting,” he says by way of greeting.

               “What the hell is it, then?” Jess asks. She’s standing closest to the door as if she’s the last resort instead of the Immortal Iron Fist sitting pleasantly at the table.

               Matt calls it like it is: “A trap.”   
  
               “We’re trying to help you,” Danny says.

               “Yeah.” Matt tilts his head towards Luke, giving the impression that he’s paying attention them. He isn’t. His senses are down the hall in the sitting room. Balcony doors are too far away. He’d never get to them in time. That leaves the bedroom windows behind him, and they don’t open nearly far enough for him to fit.

               Guess it’s a fight. One he can’t win. “What’s your play, here? You can’t lock me up forever.”   
  
               “Not forever,” Danny says. “Just long enough for us to get to the bottom of this.”

               Luke interrupts, seeing exactly where this is going. “Don’t do this, Matt.”   
  
               “You’re not giving me a choice,” Matt says. He’s already drifted between the three of them, his feet carrying him straight into the fire. “Rand made me a prisoner. I’m not going to through that again.”   
  
               “We’re not Rand!” Danny rises from the chair, his calm façade failing. “We’re your friends!”   
  
               “You have a funny way of showing it.”   
  
               “He’s right,” Jessica says. “This is shitty.”

               “You agreed,” Luke notes.

               “To help. But this isn’t helping.”   
  
               “You want to let him out on the streets? Let Rand have another shot at him? Is that what you want?”

               Jessica scoffs. “You want to throwdown here in a penthouse kitchen? Three versus one?”   
  
               “Matt’s not going to fight,” Danny declares.

               Matt laughs. “You’re damn right I’m going to fight.”   
               “You’ll lose,” Danny says, and then, his heart treading heavily in his chest, “Just like you lost at Rand.”

               Luke and Jessica both say something, but Matt isn’t listening. He has every one of his senses fixed on Danny. Every muscle in his body is primed and ready, and he crosses the kitchen so fast that neither Jessica nor Luke are there to stop him from landing the first blow.

               Danny blocks, but Matt’s already hitting him again. He tries to twist out of Luke’s reach, but Jessica is there, too, and Matt’s next punch swings uselessly in front of Danny’s face as he’s carried away.

               “You’re an asshole,” Jessica says.

               “So are you,” Matt snarls, struggling against her superpowered arms.

               “I wasn’t talking to you.”

               “Oh.”

               Danny is lunging from behind Luke, ignoring her. “They broke him! They broke you, Matt! We are not going to let that happen again!”

               Matt yells, diving out from under Jessica’s arms only to get knocked back into them by Luke. She swings him out of the way and releases. Matt catches the corner of the archway, the front door of the apartment on a straight stretch from where he’s standing.

               It’s not an accident. If it was, Jessica would be charging him. “Really?” Luke says to her, nearly losing Danny in the process. Then, to Matt, “Please, don’t go. Let’s talk this over.”

               But he’s already gone.

* * *

                Matt has no idea what neighbourhood he’s in or what direction he’s headed. All he knows is he needs cover fast. He ducks down an alley and hides behind a dumpster, his ears trained on the front door of the apartment building.

               They think he’s running. Danny certainly does at any rate. His hummingbird heartbeat hums from inside his chest. He bounds overhead, leaping between the rooftops, completely missing Matt on the ground below. Luke exits the building solo and starts in the opposite direction from Danny.

               Matt waits for them to gain some distance before he comes back around to the entrance. He presses buttons until someone buzzes him in, then he heads all the way back up to the penthouse where Jessica is still waiting.

               He half-considers heading up to the roof. Eventually, Danny and Luke will come back. They’ll talk. Or maybe they’ll just head out, and Matt can follow them. But he decides against it. Jessica doesn’t seem keen on holding him hostage. She helped him once. Maybe, she’ll help him again.

               She doesn’t get up from the couch when he returns. “I told them you were coming back.”

               “Give me a name,” Matt says.

               “Tony Stark.”

               He regrets not going to the roof. “A name from Rand.”

               “We don’t have one.”   
  
               “Which means Rand’s protecting someone.”

               “Or it means there is no one person responsible for this.”

               “There was a woman –“   
  
               Jessica stops him: “You don’t know that.”

               “You don’t know that. You weren’t there.”   
  
               “Yeah? Neither were you, Murdock. You keep talking like you know what happened, but I saw those videos. They had you so messed up –“   
  
               “If I was so messed up, how would I know what you’re talking about? What all of you are talking about? _I remember_. There was a woman. Someone powerful enough that the cameras weren’t rolling when she came to the room. Now, who at Rand has that kind of influence? Who has that kind of power?”

               Jessica sighs. Her heartbeat picks up slightly in frustration.

               “You want to tell me,” Matt urges.

               Pulse spikes: “I want to punch you in the face.”   
  
               He gives a small, sad laugh. “You would have done that already.”

               Jessica sighs again, louder this time. “We’ve already gone through the executives and directors at Rand. They check out. The building where you were held is a licensed medical facility. Well, was. Wheoever was in charge was either the best kept secret at Rand or a private contractor.”

               “She would have to know Rand.”

               “And she would have to know you.”

               Matt shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

               “Neither do we.”

               That they aren’t lying comes as something of a disappointment. Matt wants to be angry with them. He wants them to be keeping something from him. It would be easier than hearing the truth from Jessica or the bitter accusations from Danny.

               But he can’t hide anymore. He tells Jessica as much. She seems to empathize, but, “Laying low is not the same as hiding.”

               “You agree with Danny.”   
  
               “Danny’s an asshole,” Jessica says. “He thinks freaking you out is going to convince you to stay here.”

               “He’s wrong.”

               “No shit. Any one of us would have lost our shit in that situation.”

               Matt opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He can’t say it out loud: that he didn’t just lose his shit, he lost himself. And he isn’t sure if he’s coming back. “I don’t think –“

               Jessica cuts him off: “You got out, okay? Whatever they did to you, it doesn’t change that. You got out.”  

               He wants to feel as sure of himself as she is, but it’s one more disappointment when he can’t. Still, Matt swallows the lump his throat and gives her a slight nod.

               “Go,” Jessica says. “The unit below this one is vacant. I’ll get them back here. See if I can get ‘em talking.”

               “Thanks, Jess,” he says.

               “Yeah, yeah.” She slumps back into the couch with a beleaguered sigh like she has to do everything around here. “Just give us one more chance, Murdock.”

               Matt chooses not to respond. He doesn’t know what to say.

* * *

                The apartment below comes with a quiet and a sterility that eats away at Matt. He eases himself into a sitting position on the plush carpet by the balcony doors, sunlight warming his skin. He trains his ears up to where Jessica is speaking in harsh monosyllables to Luke over the phone.

               Danny reappears. His footsteps are soundless, his respiration is hidden, but he lets his voice ring out through the entire apartment. “How could you let this happen? Don’t you care about him at all?”

               “I’m not the one who chased him out of here.”

               “No, you’re the one who threw him out the door.”   
  
               “He wanted to go.”

               Matt reaches out to touch the balcony doors to stop them from humming in their frames. The argument is better borne through his muscles: not easier, not softer, just better. He can take a punch to the gut right now better than he can take the voices filling his ears.

               They care. Danny by calling it like it is, Jessica by shoving him out the door, Luke by begging him not to fight. And here he is, hiding out and eavesdropping, because their caring isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to save him.

               A cold sweat breaks out on his back. Matt pulls his hand away from the glass and lets it go back to rattling in the panes. The sound it makes sends shivers through him, because this is how it starts. This is how it always starts. Silence gives way to sound, and the sound rises and rises…

               Luke returns with a slammed door and heavy footfalls. “No sign of him.”   
  
               “No,” Danny agrees.

               “Rand couldn’t’ve gotten him this quickly. They don’t know where he is.”   
  
               “Maybe he didn’t leave,” Luke says. “Either of you check the building?”   
  
               Jessica scoffs. “He’s not that dumb.”   
  
               Luke isn’t convinced. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Probably isn’t even sure which way to go.”   
  
               “What difference does it make? He’s not here. And we’re nowhere with tracking down who did this or why.”   
  
               “It’s someone at Rand,” Danny insists. “Someone who knew about their medical facilities, who knew the doctors. Someone they would protect.”   
  
               “But not someone on their board?” Luke sounds skeptical.

               “And a woman,” Jessica adds.

               “You think that’s true?”

               “We don’t have enough to discount it.”

               “We don’t have enough to count it,” Danny says.

               “We don’t have anything.”   
  
               “I agree with Jess,” Luke says. “We started with the people at the facility. We went to the board. We have nothing. If Matt says there was a woman, there was a woman. Someone with ties to Rand strong enough to protect her.”

               Danny’s footsteps are oddly audible. Matt reaches out to touch the balcony doors again, the vibrations growing. It feels almost like Danny is walking away.

               “You know,” Luke notes.

               “Of fucking course you do,” Jessica adds.

               “I have an idea,” Danny replies.

               “Were you ever going to share that idea with us?” Luke demands. “With Matt?”   
  
               Danny steels himself: “No, because it’s not her.”   
  
               “Who?” Jessica demands.

               The footsteps stop; the glass stills in its frame. Matt draws his hand away. He rises slowly to his feet, ear bent skyward to where Danny looms directly above him, looking out into the same sunlight.

               Danny utters a name.

               Matt gets to work.

* * *

 

Happy Reading!

                

              


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Sorry for the delay between updates! February has been a surprisingly busy month for me. But I’m happy to get this posted now, especially today, when we’ve gotten so much bad news. 
> 
> I have wanted to write the two characters in this chapter for such a long time, and I finally took the chance to do it, and I just hope that they work. Thank you. Enjoy!

* * *

 

               At first, Matt simply plans to follow Danny, but it quickly becomes clear Danny doesn’t know where to look. Helps to explain why he sat on the information as long as he did. Matt stays long enough to determine that Joy doesn’t maintain official residence in the city before slipping out. Tracking down leads will take them some time. Matt already knows a better place to start than back with Rand.

               He takes to the rooftops, snatching a pillowcase off a clothesline to use as a mask. The offices of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz are still vacant by the time Matt arrives, but that only makes his work easier. Jeri Hogarth is arriving in the parking garage. She steps out of her vehicle, and Matt corners her.   

               “I was wondering when you were going to show up,” she says, punching the button for the elevator. “The others have already made their appearances at my door or at Rand’s. I’ll tell you what I told them: Rand Enterprises had absolutely nothing to do with the kidnapping and subsequent mistreatment Matt Murdock.”

               “Then who did?” Matt asks.

               “Isn’t that what you four are trying to figure out?”

               “I need to find someone.”

               The elevator arrives, the doors open, but Jeri doesn’t notice. She stands, waiting, suspicious. “Excuse me?”   
  
               “You heard me.”   
  
               “Doesn’t make what you said any clearer. You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You’ve found plenty of people who couldn’t be found. And the ones you didn’t, Jessica Jones did, or Luke Cage did.” Jeri strides forward confidently, letting the closing doors punctuate her next point. “Unless you can’t go to them.”   
  
               Matt sidesteps that accusation. He gets an arm between the elevator doors before they close: “They don’t have the information I want.”

               Jeri keeps a thin veil on her irritation. “Strange that you would choose to investigate Murdock’s disappearance by yourself.”   
  
               “Joy Meachum,” Matt says, cutting straight to the chase. “Where is she?”  
  
               “You think Joy Meachum had something to do with this?”   
  
               “She used to work for Rand.”   
  
               “Exactly: used to. And that last time I heard, she intends to keep it that way.”   
  
               “Perfect cover for someone involved in a kidnapping.”   
  
               Jeri sighs. “What will you do when you find her?”   
  
               “Talk.”

               “I’ve heard about the way you talk to people.”

               “We’re talking right now,” Matt reminds her. “You’re fine.”   
  
               “What happens if I don’t tell you where to find Joy Meachum?”   
  
               “So you know where to find her.”   
  
               Jeri breezes past as if she isn’t hiding things from him. “I’ll be representing Rand if Murdock tries to take them to court.”   
  
               Matt laughs. “That’s your threat? To meet Matt Murdock in a court of law? Good luck with that.”

               “That’s my promise. I’m protecting my client.”   
  
               The doors to the elevator start to close again. Matt physically holds them back. “Joy Meachum isn’t your client. At this point, she’s a liability. I’m good at finding people. So are Jessica Jones, Luke Cage…”

               Jeri draws a breath like she’s about to speak, probably to tell him to go to his friends. Matt stops her: “I’m giving you a chance to protect your client.” One lawyer to another. “Where is Joy Meachum?”

* * *

                It’s no wonder Danny didn’t know where to find Joy: she doesn’t have a residence in the city. But Jeri makes a couple of calls, threatens to drop the case if loose ends aren’t tied up, and gets a possible address: a house in the Hamptons. It’s a longshot that Joy will be there, but Matt is all for longshots. He tears off, rushing past his apartment for a change of clothes. Jessica and Luke have left a cloud of liquor and coffee respectively behind, making it unlikely they’ll be back anytime soon to check for him. Matt puts on his black suit, then puts on an actual suit. He arranges a car to get him out to the Hamptons, concocting a cover story about visiting an ex- based on one of his excursions to the neighbourhood with Elektra.

               Once disembarked, Matt slips into the trees. He tears off his suit, dons his black mask, and he surveys the property. There’s a security team in place, small and elite but so sparsely stationed it’s easy to take them out. Seems odd for someone who arranged a kidnapping, but Matt doesn’t let that both him, not until he’s on the lower roof, listening to the house’s lone occupant. Socked feet padding across hardwood floor, nails clacking against marble countertops, television scrolling between channels.

               A phone vibrates; a woman answers. Her side of the conversation is clipped, measured, loaded with pauses that are impossible to read. Matt’s guts tie themselves in knots. Cold sweat oozes across his skin. His first instinct is that it’s her, but his first thought is that he’s not sure. She hasn’t said enough. He doesn’t _remember_ enough.

               God, what if he’s wrong? What if this is all just a horrible coincidence? Danny obviously didn’t think Joy was a possibility until press-ganged into it. She didn’t even rank as a potential target for the great PI Jessica Jones. Matt wraps his arms around his chest, suppressing another shiver. He forces himself to go back there, back to Rand, but the waters are murkier now, the details diffuse. It’s like trying to gather the remnants of an oil spill. Everything seeps through his fingers before scattering into beads through the water, reconstituting at the surface into something without order, without logic. Sound and touch and fear combined into one.

               He has to know. Wrong or right, he has to know.

               Matt drops onto the terrace. The door is unlocked; he steps inside, skulking around to where the lone heartbeat stands. His senses give him nothing, no spark of recognition, but he is treated to a wave of pure panic that he can barely contain.

               “Joy Meachum,” he says.

               She knows how to hide her gasp but not her panic. “Jesus.” That’s all it takes for her to recover. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?   
  
               “I’m here to talk.”    
  
               “About?”

               “Rand.”

               “I don’t work for Rand.”   
  
               Matt wants to read into her statement, that she _doesn’t work for Rand_ instead of _doesn’t work for Rand anymore_ , as if that makes a damn bit of difference. A whole chorus of voices – Danny, Jess, Luke, Foggy – tell him he’s an idiot. He should never have done this, let alone done this alone. Walked right back to the woman who held him hostage, who helped torture him. Who may have done those things, in any case.

               Joy’s heart picks up: could be from dishonesty or the shock of being interrogated by a masked man in her own house. “This about the lawyer?”   
  
               “You heard?”   
  
               “I watch the news.”

               Her voice, he still can’t place it. Whether that familiarity is real or imagined. The voice he remembers is higher pitched. Sweeter. Or maybe not. He feels a shake rattling through his bones the more he tries to remember. “That all?”   
  
               “I told you: I don’t work for Rand.”

               “Does Rand work for you?”

               “No,” Joy says with a sigh. “Is that why you’re here? You came all the way to the Hamptons to ask me about Rand?”   
  
               Matt resists the urge to grip the wall. He keeps thinking he hears it. An undercurrent in her voice, one that will eventually surface and reveal the truth, validate his thinking, but his memories are chaotic, spinning and swirling, and there’s other things he needs to be concerned about: that the guards wake up, that Joy goes for the gun he senses on the far side of the room. That Rand pulls up outside, having been alerted by some kind of silent security system that he really didn’t look for when he decided to break in here.

               Instead, he asks, “Why are you under guard?” As if that’s his primary concern.

               “You can’t really try to tell me I don’t have reason to be,” Joy says, “If you’re here.”   
  
               “All this for me? You should have hired better guards.”

               “I’ve done things that I’m not proud of,” Joy says.

               “Things like kidnapping?”   
  
               Joy finally turns from the window. Her heartbeat hammers away in her chest from the accusation. Because it’s true? Matt can’t figure it out. Seems unlikely that she’s this pissed off about a guy in her living room, but he’s so rarely been surprised by masked strangers busting into his home.

               “What do you know about Matt Murdock?” she asks.

               Matt doesn’t know what she’s playing at, so he turns the question around on her: “What do you know?”   
  
               A shrug. He senses it from across the room. Joy’s whole demeanour starts shifting to something he can read. The slip of her foot along the floor. The cut of her shoulders through the air. How she purposefully walks towards the gun but reaches instead for the tablet resting on the desktop above it.

               “Stop,” Matt says.

               Joy doesn’t stop. She taps a few times against the screen. The soft pads of her fingertips are followed by the hard knock of something solid. Nails? No, stronger. Longer. Something binding a few of her fingers together.

               The wave of panic rushes through him. Cold fills his veins. The Greek choir in his head tells him to _run_.

               Matt steps forward instead. “I said –“   
  
               “I heard you,” Joy replies, tossing the tablet onto the couch. “There. I’ve stopped.”   
  
               But she’s only just begun. An electronic hum resounds from all sides of the room, so quiet that only Matt is aware of it. So familiar that his muscles tense, his heart enters a vice grip, his throat closes up. He should run, but he advances. He only has a matter of seconds before the sound builds – and, God, it’s building, even though it’s only the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and the goosebumps rushing over his arms and his blood flashing hot and cold. The whole room is turning into the laboratory at Rand, playing the sickening song that still haunts him in his dreams, and Joy Meachum is there, watching, just like she did at the lab, but this time, she’s watching the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen fall apart.

               Matt comes at her with his fist held high.

               The sound crests from the speakers.

               Then the windows shatter in their frames. Glass scatters across the floor. Matt grabs Joy by the shoulders and twists her out of the way before a force of pure heat throws him into the wall.

* * *

                Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> I don’t know how this chapter came together so quickly. Hopefully the next one does too! It will likely be the last. 
> 
> Thank you, Readers, for coming along on this fic. You’re wonderful, you know that? Cheers!

* * *

 

               Matt comes to spitting blood. His perception in a tailspin, joints aching, shoulder and hip stinging from where he hit the wall. He moves before he properly surveys the area, gets fixed on Danny’s location without any care for where Joy is or whether Jess and Luke are also around. His ears are ringing so much from the speakers, that God damn sound from Rand chasing him straight across the living room where he tackles Danny and knocks them both through the newly destroyed window.

               He moves to get back up; Danny kicks his legs out from under him. “Stay down. We’re trying to help.”

               “You can’t help,” Matt says. His head hurts, his muscles are cramping. The sound. The sound is still there, and it’s eating him up. It’s all he is now and all he’ll ever be, and he wants it to _stop_. He starts throwing punches into Danny’s defences, barely taking the time to block when Danny decides to take a swing.

               He ends up on his back, one hand twisted into the front of Danny’s hoodie, the other raised overhead in a punch that he never gets to take. Danny catches him, pinning him, and says, “We are helping. You aren’t letting us.”

               Matt yells, finally gathering enough strength to get Danny the hell off him. “You knew. You knew all along that she might be behind this.”  
  
               “I didn’t know anything.”  
  
               “I told you.” The ringing in his ears still hasn’t gone away. Matt reaches, groaning, his palms barely able to block it out as it rips through him. “Make it stop,” he says. “Please, God, just…”  
  
               Danny’s hand lands on his shoulder; his voice goes straight into Matt’s ear: “I did. The speakers were the first thing I destroyed when I got into the room.”

               Matt draws a horrified breath. He can hear it; his ears are ringing with it. But it’s not coming from the outside: it’s inside him. He’s imagining it, and the more he tries to stop, the louder it seems to get.

               He recoils from Danny, staggering back, finally and painfully interested in what’s become of Joy. She isn’t in the room. Eventually, she returns, Jessica’s bootfalls nipping at her heels.

               Luke is there, standing guard in case she runs for the back door.

               “Talk,” Jessica says. “What the hell were you doing for Rand?”  
  
               “Research.”

               “About what?” Danny asks.

               “Matt Murdock.” Joy’s heartbeat does a funny dance between Jessica’s, Luke’s and Danny’s. She’s looking for the weakest link and doesn’t bother searching in Matt’s direction. “Look, it wasn’t my idea to take him. They brought me in later, after he hospitalized several of their staff.”

               “What was the research about?” Luke asks.

               “His blindness. Waste from Rand’s chemical plants was responsible. But they had information that seemed to suggest it might have done more.”

               “Information from where? From whom?” Danny demands.

               “I don’t know,” Joy replies. “I told you: they brought me in to smooth things over, get a handle on the operation. But by the time I got there, there was nothing to fix. Murdock was already broken. The best thing to do was to collect what data they still could.”

               Danny puts himself ever-so-slightly in Matt’s way: “The best thing to do was let him go.”

               Joy sighs. “You’re so naïve, Danny. The research they got on Murdock changes everything. That chemical spill didn’t just make him blind –“  
  
               “Shut up,” Matt snarls at her.

               Jessica backs him up, likely to cover for him. Joy might have been testing a theory when she played back the sound earlier, but she doesn’t seem to have confirmed anything in the aftermath. “Yeah, shut up.”

               Joy does not shut up. “Those chemicals heightened his remaining senses. His hearing, his touch: it’s remarkable. And the way he fights…” Now, she’s looking at him. Matt feels her gaze cut him like a knife. It takes everything in his power to let her creep over him, searching for the best place to make an incision. She goes back to addressing the other three, but Matt still feels her holding onto him. “Rand has been working for years at developing medical treatments: imagine the possibilities for people with hearing loss, with paralysis…”

               Matt laughs darkly. “You don’t expect us to believe Rand wasn’t looking to weaponize this.”

               “They didn’t call you in to fix this,” Danny growls.

               Luke finishes his thought: “You were there to head development on a whole new branch of research.”  
  
               A sigh, this time of affirmation. “If it came to that,” Joy says. Which is most certainly would have. “This whole time, it’s been sitting in barrels or being disposed of as industrial waste. Matt Murdock has been wandering around with senses so acute he can fight several orderlies at a time.” Again, she seems poised in Matt’s direction, but she doesn’t dare move. “Of course, with him gone and Rand under investigation, none of that will matter.”

               Matt’s guilt doesn’t get a chance to pounce before Jessica jumps into the fray: “Oh, please. That isn’t going to stop you. You’ll take what you’ve got and move onto human trials.”  
  
               Joy doesn’t dignify that with a response. She shifts where she stands, searching between Luke and Danny for understanding. Matt draws his anger so tight to himself it forms armour so thick nothing can reach him. Not Joy, not Danny or Luke or Jessica, not what they’re saying. Shit, he’s been so selfish. He’s been so worried about what Rand did to him that he hasn’t thought at all about what they might do to other people.

               Luke takes command. “We’re taking everything you have on Murdock. If there are any records outstanding, you’re going to tell us where they are.”

               “Fine,” Joy says, “But if you think that will stop them –“  
  
               “No, it won’t,” Danny agrees. “That’s why you’re also going to tell us where the chemicals are stored.”

               “And which facilities generate them,” Jessica adds.

               Now Joy starts to panic. Her voice gives nothing away, but Matt hears the fear in her veins. “You can’t be serious.”

               “What? We look like we’re joking?” Luke asks.

               “I think you look like you’re going to destroy them, which, never mind the ecological ramifications, would –“  
  
               “It doesn’t matter what we do,” Matt snaps. He forces himself back into the conversation, forces himself to care, to feel, even as he wallows under all the fear and guilt and shame he’s trying to keep under wraps. “Rand isn’t going to have access to them.”  
  
               “Or Matt Murdock,” Luke says.

               Joy stands between them, assailed on all sides by stern heartbeats. “Rand isn’t going to forget about this.” She certainly isn’t.  
  
               Matt nods. “Yes, they will. There’s no record this was Rand’s operation.”  
  
               “No records of who was in charge,” Danny says before adding menacingly, “Except you, the confession you’ve just given us.”

               “We’ve got kidnapping and torture,“ Luke adds.

               “A cover-up,” Jessica says.

               “And the only person we can tie it all back to is you,” Matt closes.

               “I didn’t do this!” Joy snaps.

               “No, you’re just a victim in all of this.”  
  
               She looks at him again, but this time her stare doesn’t sting. Matt doesn’t let it. Joy must notice, because the next thing she says is, “I’m sorry about what happened to Matt Murdock, but there was nothing I could do by the time I got there.”  
  
               “You could have let him go,” Luke says.

               “You could have called the police,” Danny says.

               Jessica’s deadpan assertion ends the argument: “Literally anything else would have been better than what you actually did.”

               Matt can’t help taking one last swing after the bell: “How are your fingers?”

               “They look pretty broken to me,” Luke says, his heartbeat sounding an apology in Matt’s direction. It’s tolerable, at least until Danny’s pulse starts sounding the same. Then Matt finds himself at the unfortunate centre of an ambush only he can hear.

               Numbness was worse than anger, but there’s nothing worse than this. They’re all thinking about him on the floor, they’re all thinking about him crying and begging. Even Joy, who’s regarding the whole standoff with a mixture of righteousness and honest remorse.

               “This research could help people,” Joy says. “If Matt Murdock had been given the choice, he would –“  
  
               Luke stops her right there: “But he wasn’t.”

               “There is still good that can come from this.”  
  
               “You’re right,” Danny says. “But not the way you’re thinking.”

               Jessica looms behind Joy. “Give us everything you’ve got. Now.”

* * *

 

Happy Reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> I should know better than to ever declare that the next chapter will be my last chapter, because the next chapter is never my last chapter. 
> 
> …except for the next chapter to this, which really will be my last chapter. 
> 
> Readers, dear Readers, thank you for your kind support. I hope you are well. Please, enjoy!

* * *

 

               The chaos of what follows usually brings relief. Cops arrive. Cruisers pile up. Joy’s heartbeat rises in righteous fury and indignation. When the first and only words out of her mouth are, “I want a lawyer,” Jessica’s pulse becomes a low-key version of that thrill she gets from punching someone in the face. There’s a sense of order being restored, of things being made right.

               Matt doesn’t get any of that. He lingers on the rooftop, for what reason he doesn’t know, not until his irritation finally breaks through his calm façade. He wants this to be over, and he hates himself for wanting and he hates that it isn’t.

               He gets away while they’re dragging Joy to the car. The cops notice the shadows shift; some even reach for their weapons. It’s a clumsy getaway, but Matt doesn’t care, not until he hears Joy getting impressed. Resolved. Then he’s pissed off again, raging, in desperate need to punch somebody.

               A heartbeat appears on Matt’s way through the trees. “I’m sorry.”   
  
               “Go away,” he snaps. He’s going to continue walking when another heartbeat shows up. Luke Cage isn’t as deft about his footsteps as the immortal Iron Fist, so he doesn’t even have to apologize for Matt to hear his sorry come through loud and clear. “Both of you.”

               “We have a car,” Luke says. “Unless you want to walk all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen.”   
  
               “I want you to leave me alone.”   
  
               “We’re not leaving,” Danny declares.

               Matt stops. Bad as his hands are itching for a fight, he hasn’t quite resigned himself to a fight with Danny or Luke. “Don’t make me do this.”   
  
               “We won’t,” Luke says. “You want us to go, we’ll go.”   
  
               “No, we won’t.”   
  
               “Danny.”

               Danny isn’t listening. He’s fixed on Matt, marching towards him on a collision course. “You need to deal with this,” he says.

               “Get away from me,” Matt says.

               Luke stands between them. “Fighting is not going to deal with this,” he tells Danny. “Look, you want us to leave you alone, we will. But you can’t walk all the way back into the city.”   
  
               “I’ll find a way,” Matt says, the Devil still coming through in his voice loud and clear.

               “Alright.” Luke takes a few steps towards Danny. “Let’s go.”

               Danny steps around Luke, not stopping until he’s physically held back. “You don’t get to walk away from us. Not after this. We’re your friends!”   
  
               “Go away,” Matt says.

               “Come on, man.”

               “NO!” Danny shirks off Luke’s next attempt to hold him back. “She had you! She almost found out your secret! What would you have done if we didn’t come? No one would have known where you were! You would have been lost again! She could have done whatever she wants to you again!”

               “You’re right. Thank you.” Matt nods at them both, sincere with his gratitude. “Now go.”   
  
               “We’re going,” Luke says. “We’ll talk about it later.”   
  
               Danny shakes his head so violently Matt feels it rocking the distance between them. “I want to talk about it now.”   
  
               “Danny –“   
  
               “We could have lost you!”   
  
               “You didn’t.” Matt really doesn’t want to talk anymore. He doesn’t really want to fight but Danny isn’t giving him much of an option. They’re running out of words in the conversation. “What do you want from me?”

               “I want you to talk to us.”   
  
               “I did. Why didn’t you tell me about Joy?”

               “Don’t turn this around on me.”   
  
               “You knew! You knew and you did nothing!”   
  
               “You’re still hearing it! You’re still reliving it! What they did to you!”   
  
               Matt gets his fists up. He drops his head. He rises onto his toes and goes for a charge and Danny is ready for him, expecting him, even. Luke is, too, and he works his way between them.

               Boots drop heavily onto the dirt. Jessica shrugs deeper into her leather coat, her heart in her throat from the leap she’s made to catch up to them. “Car’s back that way,” she says.

               “We’re not looking for the car,” Danny snaps.

               “You should be. Cops can hear you dumbasses shouting at each other.”

               “You grab one, I grab the other?” Luke offers.

               Jessica shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”   
  
               Matt comes off his toes. He listens to them, how quickly Luke and Jessica shift to compassion, to pity. How resolute Danny is to talk about this. He withdraws, seeking out his discarded suit in the trees by smell and chasing after it. He isn’t about to spend two hours being interrogated. He wants to be alone. Why won’t they leave him alone?

               “You can’t run away from this forever!” Danny shouts after him.

               “I’m not running away from this,” Matt says. He’s running away from _them_.

               He comes to a sudden halt, reeling in the sudden emptiness of the forest. Jessica, Luke, and Danny have gone back for the car, and he’s standing, alone, as the Daredevil, having successfully run away.

* * *

 

               Matt gathers his civvies, redresses, and takes a walk. He finds an empty house and breaks in, gratified there isn’t a digital security system to try and outsmart, only cool, vacant rooms and the soft hush of waves beyond the back door.

               He feels it inside him, unraveling: anxiety giving way not to relief but exhaustion. He thinks he might crash for a few hours on the couch, let the occupants wake him if they happen to arrive, but he isn’t tired. His mind is alive, active, running through what needs to be done. Joy will lawyer up. Rand will use her as a scapegoat. All the evidence Danny, Luke, and Jessica have collected will be handed over for use in the case, including the video of him losing himself. And won’t they love to get him on the stand. Won’t they love to cross-examine the blind orphan so busted up by his experience he runs away from fights?

               There are paintings on the walls. Photo frames on the shelves. Crystal in cabinets. Expensive liquor at the bar. The whole house was made to be broken, and Matt wants to break it, but none of its his. He ends up swiping his fists through the empty air, lets his yells slam into the ceilings and jangle the chandelier. He lets his knees slam into the hardwood on his way down, praying that he breaks through the floor into the basement. That he brings the whole house down on top of him with his rage.

               But nothing happens. When it’s all over, Matt’s on all fours, shaking; dry-mouthed and breathless, throat so ragged that all he can do is wheeze.

               He rises. He straightens his tie. He listens for the cops and, satisfied that they’re retreating, he takes out his phone. He uses Google Maps to find his location, then calls for a cab. 

* * *

 

               It’s the dead of night. They make good time. They’re just coming across the bridge when Matt changes his destination. “Clinton Church,” the driver says skeptically. “Yeah, okay, buddy. You got it.”

               The door to the crypt gives easily to Matt’s ministrations. He descends the steps into the cradle of cool, damp stone. His body is on autopilot, running through motions. Limbs burning through the last stores of energy as that wave of exhaustion breaks inside him, giving way to an abyss. Soundness and scentless and numb, not unlike the drugged depths from Rand. The difference is the safety Matt feels as he gives into it, as he walks on limpening legs to the cot in the back corner. As he drops onto his side, his eyes closing, sinking at long last into sleep with the knowledge that nothing can harm him here.

               Joy finds him. Her soft voice telling him how wonderful he is, how much he’s given them, right before the screech of Rand’s tests cuts through his skull and thrusts him back into consciousness. The hand in his squeezes hard, resisting his efforts to break fingers. “Matthew,” Maggie tells him, “Matthew, it’s alright. You’re safe.”   
  
               Matt opens his mouth to tell her, but the words get locked in his throat. He can’t. The shame of it all is too much: worse than simply her finding him here, like this. He ran away. The sound chased him away from joy and embarrassment chased him away from Jessica, Luke, and Danny. And he’s been such an idiot, going after Joy by himself. Putting himself in a position to get taken again, in a position where he needed to be rescued again.

               Maggie cups a hand on his cheek and lifts, closing his mouth as she guides him into a sitting position. The blankets are tugged down under him, then Matt’s put back on the pillow, a hand smoothing through his hair. His jacket’s gone. His shoes, too. The cold of the basement sends a shiver through him, but then the blankets are around him.

               “Don’t go,” he breathes, praying she won’t hear him.

               But she does. God, she does. “No, I won’t, Matthew.” Maggie sits down on the edge of the bed beside him, her hand smoothing over his back on its way onto the mattress. She keeps him under one arm, pinned and protected from the devils inside and out.

* * *

 

Happy reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> …so there’s going to be an epilogue, BECAUSE OF COURSE THERE IS. I don’t know how to estimate the word count for content, and this chapter covered everything I wanted. Miraculous, really, given how difficult the conclusion of this story ended up being. I always worry that I’ve run out of things to write, and then something happens that forces an unexpected conflict or, in this case, conclusion. 
> 
> Speaking of, I debated as to where to end this chapter. I went with the more optimistic ending, because I feel like I've done enough to Matt in this fic. 
> 
> Readers, darling Readers, you are wonderful. Thank you for sticking with this. See you in a bit with the finale!

* * *

 

               Maggie is gone when Matt wakes, but the dawn has replaced her, striking the stone walls and filling the space with warmth. Matt uncurls, less disoriented by his surroundings or solitude than the ease with which he rises into them. He’s been sleeping so poorly, and while he was fitful last night, he feels like he actually rested.

               He’s drawing his legs out from under the blankets when Maggie returns bearing coffee. “I thought you might need this,” she says, pressing a hot mug into his hand. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.

               Matt lets the steam hit him square in the face like a kiss. “Thank you.”  
  
               “Don’t thank me. You haven’t tasted it yet.” Maggie drinks her, grimacing audibly.

               “Not for the coffee.” Well, “Not just for the coffee. For…” He trails off, unable to put what he’s thanking her for into words from the shame of it.

               A nod. Or at the very least, an affirming silence. Then, “You’re welcome, Matthew,” followed by a soft pat on the knee.

               Matt hazards a sip of the coffee. It is terrible, but he barely notices with Maggie sitting so close, drowning out the taste simply by being there.

               “One of your friends called,” she says, once he’s had another sip. “The private investigator.”  
  
               “Jessica.” Matt lets the steam waft against his face again, warming him. “Did she tell you…?” Again, he can’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t want to volunteer any information, already having stolen Maggie for a night while he fussed for her like a God damn child.

               Maggie gives nothing away, but Matt believes her when she says, “She asked if you were here. When I didn’t tell her, she threatened to come down and find out for herself. I didn’t want her to wake you, so I confirmed.”

               “That’s all?”  
  
               “That’s all. Is there something more that I should know?”

               Matt speaks softly, letting his words land in his cup where they diffuse into the coffee. “We found one of the people responsible.” He goes on to explain Joy Meachum’s role and her ambitions in the simplest possible terms. With regards to Rand’s interest, he’s even more brief.

               “I never knew who was responsible,” Matt admits. He still doesn’t _feel_ the information. This is someone else’s case, someone else’s eyes. “Dad couldn’t afford a lawyer, so a settlement was all we got. It was enough to cover some of the medical bills, counseling; canes and books…”

               “Would he have let them do more?” Maggie asks.

               “No.” Matt allows himself a slight smile. “Can only imagine what he’d do now, he knew about this.”

               “Battlin’ Jack would have a few choice words for Rand Industries and Joy Meachum.”  
  
               A laugh, a sad one. Matt nods, playing with the cup, letting the heat stream up his arms and ward off the chill he feels blooming in his chest at the thought of Dad.

               “And you never told anyone about your senses,” Maggie says.  
  
               “No,” Matt replies.

               “Who might have known?”  
  
               He shrugs. “Maybe there was another accident. Someone else who experienced similar effects.” He hopes not: the thought of someone out there, in one of Rand’s facilities, subjected to the same horrible treatment as him or worse, it’s crushing. That Joy didn’t mention it during her confession suggests it’s unlikely. “Maybe Fisk?”

               “He knows who you are, what you can do.”  
  
               “So he sent Rand after me.”

               “Get them to do his dirty work.”

               Matt considers this. “It fits.”

               “But?”  
  
               “It’s irrelevant.” He explains the evidence to Maggie, how this is going to play out in court. “I’m exposed. Whether we take legal action against Rand or Joy, I’m the one going on trial.”  
  
               Maggie, to her credit, doesn’t dismiss this. She sits in thoughtful silence, considering everything Matt’s told her. “Is there any way to settle this out of court?”  
  
               “I’m not settling.”

               “Matthew.”

               “They got away with this once. I am not letting them get away with it again.”

               “This is bigger than you.”  
  
               “This is _me_.”

               Maggie purses her lips. Her heartbeat is a low murmur of disapproval, and Matt lets it do the talking. He knows what she’ll say, and she’s wrong: this isn’t pride. This is justice. He wants justice for what was done to him. That it comes at his own expense is a fair price.

* * *

               Jessica clearly doesn’t tell Luke or Danny his whereabouts. Matt is left to a fraught lunch with Maggie followed by meditation before Foggy arrives in the evening bearing takeout.

               Matt doesn’t realize it’s a set-up until it’s too late. Five forkfuls into Noni’s, Foggy pounces: “We need to settle with Joy Meachum.”    
  
               “No,” Matt replies, pointedly refusing to stop eating. He lets Foggy talk, unperturbed by his friend’s _we have her right where we want her_ and the usual litany of worries about _when the truth comes out_. The truth has always been there. This is no different.

               Foggy seems to think so: “How long will it take for people to realize who you really are?”  
  
               “They won’t.”

               “How long after that until every one of our cases is being pulled apart? Every conviction we’ve ever made is overturned? How long before we’re the ones on trial?”

               “I’ll take care of it!” Matt says, throwing down his cutlery, appetite suddenly gone. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I’m sorry that I-“

               He grits his teeth and purses his lips, berating himself for crying. He got them into this stupid mess. He let his guard down, got caught, gave himself away for, what? A few loud noises and some pinpricks. God damn, he’s stronger than this. Smarter than this. Better than this. Or at least he thought he was.

               Another apology is working its way out of his mouth, but Matt doesn’t get a chance to open his mouth before Foggy says, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Matt. This was done to you.”

               “But I should have-“  
  
               “They wouldn’t let you.”  
  
               “I could-“  
  
               “No,” Foggy says, “No, you couldn’t. _They_ made sure you couldn’t.”

               For a moment, the world goes insufferably quiet. Matt’s mind is blank. He holds himself there, fortifying the dark, letting it become a wall around him. But his resolve his crumbling, rocked by Foggy’s pulse and shaken by the thought of _they_. “I can’t let them get away with this,” he sputters.

               “No,” Foggy says. He puts his hand on Matt’s shoulder, and it’s only then Matt notices that he’s shaking. He lets Foggy’s solidity fill him, lets it bring him back to the church, to sunlight and warmth and _home_. “But if you bring this into the courtroom, they will. You have people relying on you. People who you helped put away, people who you kept out of prison, people who you love and want to protect-“  
  
               “ _We_ ,” Matt corrects him. “People _we_ helped put away. People we lo…people we love.”

               Foggy’s nod rattles all the way down his arm, rocking into Matt’s chest. “Joy Meachum wants you to fight this in court. If she’s going down, she’ll take you with her. You didn’t have a choice about what she did to you, what Rand did to you. But you have a choice, now, to not let them destroy your legacy. And I’m asking you, as your lawyer and _as your friend_ , please. Please don’t let them destroy you.”

               The injustice of it strikes such a chord inside him. Matt tries to throw Thurgood Marshall back in Foggy’s face. He tries to circle around to a better defence. There isn’t one: no matter the outcome in court, he loses, and he brings everyone he’s ever helped down with him.

               But that’s only in court.

               “I’m still going to fight this,” Matt says.

               Foggy draws a steadying breath, grounding himself. “I know.” His hand is still on Matt’s shoulder, and by the sound of his heart, he must feel what’s growing under Matt’s skin. He must feel the devil coming out of the corner where Rand and Joy tried to contain him. “And I want you to. I want you to keep fighting. Give ‘em hell, buddy.”

               “Let the devil out,” Matt agrees.

               “Let the devil out,” Foggy says. His hand shakes a little on Matt’s shoulder, but it’s not from a lack of resolve. “I’m so sorry, Matt, that this happened.”

               “Yeah, me too.” But Matt doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel sorry. He just feels angry. The sorry is coming later.

               Foggy notices. “I’m going to hug you,” he says.

               “Yeah,” Matt replies, not feeling that either. Not until Foggy’s wrapped around him. Then he chokes. He sputters. He grabs hold of Foggy, fully intending to push himself away, but he can’t move. He can’t take another step. He lets Foggy hold onto him, lets the walls he’s put up inside himself crumble away. Lets the devil sink down into the depths. Lets himself feel.

* * *

                The directors at Rand breathe a collective sigh of relief. They agree to silence and compensation. All evidence will be stricken from their records. The facility where Matt was held is donated to the city for use as a free clinic (once it’s repaired and remodeled, of course. Jessica and Luke did quite a number on it). Funds are directed to St. Agnes and the School for the Blind. Jeri seems to take credit for this turn of events. Matt smirks at her from across the table as Foggy lets her know how lucky she and her client are in excruciating detail.

               Joy radiates nothing but fury as they deliver the news to her. She’s a far cry from the woman Matt found in the Hampton’s: unwashed, unkempt, dressed down in whatever clothes the NYPD could offer.

               Her lawyer leans over to confer with her, but she cuts him off: “Show me where to sign.”

               “Ms. Meachum, I urge you –“   
  
               “Noted,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Give me a pen.”  
  
               Foggy takes a pen from his breast pocket, clicks it, and cheerily passes it to her along with their documentation. Joy signs on the dotted line without missing a beat. She tosses the pen into the file, flips the file shut, and shoves it back across the table.

               Then she spares one final glance at Matt, sharp enough that it registers across the room. He takes the blow, resisting the urge to show her any sort of regard. There will be time for that later.

               “Get me the hell out of here,” she says.

               Matt allows himself to smirk at that. She doesn’t know, or maybe she doesn’t want to believe, that there’s nowhere to go. She may not get the fight she wanted from Matt Murdock, but her battle with the Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen is just getting started. 

* * *

 

Happy Reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> …and there’s going to be another –
> 
> Nope, just kidding! This is actually it! The fic is finished! Loose ends have been wrapped up, and now, I leave it to you, dear Readers. Thank you for staying with me on this journey from Tumblr ficlet to one-shot to the multi-chapter that wouldn’t quit. I never would have made it without you, Readers. Thank you. Please, enjoy!

* * *

 

               Matt starts and deletes a handful of texts before finally hitting send. No one responds: not Luke, not Jessica, not Danny, but frankly, Matt’s not sure he could handle interacting with any of them over SMS. He needs to be in the same room with them. He needs to hear their heartbeats and read their reactions. He needs to track their movements and anticipate their – mostly Danny’s – blows.

               Luke quotes the message upon arrival, sounding almost amused. “’Come or don’t.’ Little harsh there, don’t you think, Murdock?”   
  
               “You didn’t have to come,” Matt notes.

               “You didn’t have to invite us.” Luke waits outside the door, giving Matt, it seems, a chance to change his mind before asking, “You alright?”

               Matt nods. Luke considers this, suspicious, but he must believe Matt because he says, “Don’t be like that then. ‘Come or don’t.’” He scoffs. “You gonna let me in? Or are we gonna talk in the hallway like two irregular folks?”

               “The two irregular folks you are,” Jessica calls from the stairs. She plods her way up the last of them, not in the least bit winded, but exhausted just the same.

               “Make that three irregular folks,” Luke adds.

               Matt steps out of the way. “Come in.”   
  
               Luke enters first. Jessica goes to follow, but Matt stops her briefly. “You going to let me in, or do I have to move your ass out of the way?” she asks.

               “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For everything.” At the penthouse, in the Hamptons, calling Maggie – everything.

               “Yeah,” Jessica replies, feigning boredom even as her heart skips a hopeful little beat inside her chest. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”   
  
               Luke watches on, amused. “No thanks for me?” he asks, more to rib Jessica than anything.

               Matt nods. “I was getting to it.”

               They congregate at the island in the kitchen. Matt grabs some beers from the fridge. “Danny not coming?” Jessica asks, surveying the apartment to make sure he isn’t hiding somewhere.

               “He’s here.” Matt nudges his head towards the door to the roof. “He got here a while ago, but he hasn’t come down.”

               “I can hear you!” Danny calls.

               “Then come in!” Luke calls back.

               The door is thrown open. Danny steps inside, his chi giving his body an odd kind of heat that distorts Matt’s otherwise clear sense of his surroundings. door slams and Danny descends the stairs, sending the world on fire out of focus.

               “’Come or don’t’?” Danny says, crossing the living room on a warpath.

               Matt flips the cap off a bottle of beer, letting it clack against the countertop to break the tension emitted by the Immortal Iron Fist. He hands the beer to Luke. “Still applies.”   
  
               Danny arrives, taking a place between Luke and Jessica, directly across from Matt. “I’m here. We’re here. We’ve always been here, Matt. You’re the one trying to get away.”

               “Because you didn’t give me a choice! I deserve to deal with Rand on my own terms, to deal with what they did to me.”

               “Are you dealing with it? Or are you running from it?”   
  
               “That’s up to Matt,” Luke says. “Not you. Not any of us.”   
  
               “Was getting out of Rand up to Matt, too? Was leaving him to Joy?”   
  
               “That’s not the same thing,” Jessica says.    

               Matt jumps back into the conversation: “I’m grateful for everything you did about Rand, about Joy. You saved my life.”

               “Then let us help you now,” Danny begs.

               “By what?” Matt comes back to the question that’s been haunting him since this whole ordeal began. “What do you want from me?”

               “Talk to us!”   
  
               “I told you everything!”   
  
               “You don’t have to do this alone!”   
  
               “You can’t help with this, Danny!”

               “Is that what’s pissing you off?” Luke asks.

               “He’s our friend!” Danny snaps. “He’s our friend and he’s hurting. How is it not pissing you off?"

               “We’re all pissed off, Danny,” Luke says.

               “Then why aren’t you helping?” Danny demands. “Why aren’t we helping?”   
  
               “We’re here, aren’t we?” Jessica asks.

               “Come or don’t,” Luke gives a small shrug, “And we all came.”

               “Yes, but that’s not enough!”

               “Yes, it is, Danny,” Matt says quietly. “It’s enough.”   
  
               Danny stands in fraught silence, his body vibrating with gathering force and righteous indignation. “Us being here doesn’t fix what was done. It doesn’t help you deal with it.”   
  
               “The only person who can do that is Matt,” Luke says.

               The weight of Danny’s stare is almost too much. Matt buckles under it. He wants to give them what they want, wants to convince them that he is alright, but that he has them so worried is bad enough without making it worse.

               He opens his mouth to speak, fully intending to apologize that this is one thing Danny can’t fix, when Danny comes right up to the counter, leans towards him and says, “I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you before, Matt.”

               “We all are,” Luke agrees.

               “We should have.”   
  
               Matt hears the hope in Danny’s heartbeat, the desperate hope that he has found the very thing they need to make the situation better. But it isn’t that they didn’t believe. “I don’t blame you for that,” Matt says.

               “I should have told you about Joy.”   
  
               “Yeah,” but telling him wouldn’t have changed anything. He still would have wanted to confront her alone.

               “Please,” Danny finally comes out with it, the very thing that’s bothering him, “Please talk to us.”

               Luke and Jessica’s heartbeats aren’t nearly as hopeful. Matt’s own echoes them. They all know what it’s like to bury things inside themselves, to hold themselves together even as they fall apart. Danny’s the only one out of them who gives himself, every part of himself. His honesty is grating, brutish even; it hits harder than one of Jessica’s punches, hard enough that he could break through Luke’s skin. Matt has no defence against it.

               “I will,” he says, “Someday.” Danny is already retreating; he knows a lie when he hears it. Matt tries again. “Look, I can’t just talk about it. I don’t even know what I’d say. But I promise, Danny, when I do, I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.”

               Danny huffs and shifts, searching between the three of them. “Why is it so hard for all of you to admit when something’s wrong?”

               “I don’t know. Why is it so hard for you to back the hell off?” Jessica asks.

               Matt cuts the argument short: “Something’s wrong. Alright? There. I said it. Something’s wrong.” He doesn’t dare finish that statement, doesn’t dare put it into words that something is wrong _with him_. Danny seems placated, at least. “I don’t have anything else to say.”   
  
               “That’s more than enough,” Luke says, his attention fixed on Danny. “He’s gonna leave this alone now.”   
  
               “Good.” Matt draws a steadying breath. He falters under the defiant thrust of Danny’s chi wafting across his chest and face. It’s good enough. For now. Matt isn’t sure what happens when it’s not good enough again. If he actually talks to Danny, if he actually talks to _someone_ , what the hell does he say?   
  
               It’s the hammer of heartbeats that makes his decision for him. He listens to Jessica and Luke, to Danny, and he finds that the hope is there, in the room, pooling between them, even the ones who have taught themselves not to believe in hope. And instead of running from it, Matt stands, letting the sound fill him, until it’s so clear what he’ll do. When the time comes, he’ll tell the truth, whatever that truth may be, and though he doesn’t believe it will change anything now, he will someday.

               Matt lets the moment stand a little longer, then says, “That’s not why I asked you to come.”   
  
               He explains the settlements with Rand and Joy.

               “You let her go?” Jessica’s heartbeat flares, as does Danny’s. Luke’s remains at a patient crawl, waiting for the explanation he knows is coming.

               “I let her think that,” Matt says, “But I have no intention of letting this go. I doubt Joy will either. Rand still has barrels of this stuff in storage. Joy was brought on by someone at Rand, and that person was brought on by someone else, someone who knows who I am.”

               “Fisk?” Luke suggests.

               “He fits.”

               “So what do we do?” Jessica asks.

               “Start with Joy,” Matt says. “And we don’t stop till it’s over.”   
  
               Danny releases a breath. He’s been so frustrated; the relief of having a new mission is palpable. “You let her go so that we could be the ones to bring her to justice.”

               “Along with all the people she’s working for,” Matt says, “On my terms.”

               “Our terms,” Luke clarifies.

               Matt nods. “Ours.”  

               Jessica shrugs in a good impression of simply having nothing better to do. “Let's get to work." 

* * *

 

Happy Reading!


End file.
